He leans back. “You can’t be surprised you’re on the list.”
“Surprised I’m last.”
“I went in order of discovery, not preference.”
I look back at the computer, where all I’ve typed so far is the heading. “Mm-hmm.”
Eli reaches over and frames my cheek. “I like you more than rolls, idiot.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “What about my mom’s lava cakes?”
He draws his hand back with a feigned wince. “I have to think about that . . .”
I shove his arm, smiling despite myself. “Keep looking for the structural formula of starch so we can do the sketch. I’ll start the written section.”
We work on it for the next hour or so, switching halfway through so I finish the sketch and Eli finishes the writing. I push Eli’s laptop back on the table and go to the fridge. “All this has gotten me hungry, and I’m pretty sure we have one more . . . ha, score!” I pull out the last fluffy biscuit leftover from dinner last night, and the raspberry jam.
“So now that we’re done with the Chem project,” I start, pulling out a knife to smear jam on the biscuit, “how do you want to do this? Uncle Remington first, or your parents?”
I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know he tenses, but we agreed we’d do it today. Mom will ask him about it later. “Uncle Remington first.”
I give Eli half of the biscuit. “Then fuel up, and let’s go. I’m with you.”
His voice is a murmur right before he takes a bite. “I know.”
He’s quiet as we walk to his house, but just before we go in, his hand brushes purposefully against mine. “Uncle Remington?” Eli calls after walking in. He leads the way toward the study and knocks on the open door.
“What is it?” His uncle asks. I peek around Eli and see his uncle in a wingback chair, reading.
“I’m going to Jack’s house for Thanksgiving. They invited you as well, if you’d like to come. Mrs. Benson is making dinner.”
Uncle Remington’s eyes flit to me, and then he looks at Eli with a blank expression. “If your parents come home? What will you do then?”
Eli doesn’t visibly react. “I’m calling them in a minute, to tell them Mrs. Benson invited them, too.”
Uncle Remington raises one brow.
“The invitation stands, if you need time to think about it. I’m going.”
Eli turns to walk away. “My mom wants to meet you,” I blurt out.
Both of their gazes lock onto me. I focus on the cold green gaze of Eli’s uncle. “She’s an amazing cook and she’s really nice, and she wants to meet my boyfriend’s family. So please consider coming.”
The man studies me. “Very well.”
Eli turns. “You’re coming?”
Uncle Remington picks up his book. “Very well, I’ll consider it.”
My hands fist at my sides, but I follow Eli as he walks away. “We’re better off if he doesn’t come, arrogant jerk,” I say as soon as we reach his room.
Eli pulls his phone out. “That’s his way of saying he’s not coming.” He sighs and puts the ringing phone to his ear. “I’m pretty sure I’ll get the same response from my par—Mom? Hi,” he says, shooting me a surprised look. I hate that he expects them to not even answer his calls. “Are you guys still in New York City? I wanted to ask you something about Thanksgiving . . .”
He holds the phone away from his ear enough so I can faintly hear his Mom’s voice on the other end as she cuts across him. “Thanksgiving? I’m not sure if we can make it, Elliot.”
“Jack’s mom invited all of us to her house.”
“Oh, that’s sweet. I’m at a wedding shoot, honey, and they’re ready to go, so we’ll talk about it more later, okay? Love you!”
